


You Complete My Moon

by MeikoAtsushi



Series: Outerspace [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Band Fic, BokuKuroOi broship, Break Up, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Inferiority Complex, Kageyama being a tsundere, Keyboardist!Tsukishima, M/M, Moon, Music, Natsume Soseki confessions, Outerspace series, Self Confidence Issues, So many moon references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-02
Updated: 2018-06-02
Packaged: 2019-05-17 08:14:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14828657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeikoAtsushi/pseuds/MeikoAtsushi
Summary: “You know, Tsukki,” His lips formed a smile, “If I knew you existed, I would’ve saved all my firsts for you. From holding hands, to my first kiss, to my first sex, to my first moon gazing.”"Are you seriously insane?"In which Tsukishima wonders why Kuroo is so infatuated with him - and Kuroo wonders why, indeed.Alternatively, read:“The moon is beautiful, Kuroo-san.”“I never knew you were the type for Natsume Soseki.”“I’m never going to say it again.”(You’re none of my firsts, but together, we’re more perfect than I’d ever be. Love is a trite term, and Natsume Soseki phrases sound too poetic and classic, that I never cared too much about them.Instead, let’s phrase it some other way, a password we’d only understand –)





	You Complete My Moon

**Author's Note:**

> This is the second part of the 'Outerspace' series! It actually doesn't matter if you've read 'The Starry You' or not, because it still makes perfect sense without it, but I imagine it'd be fun to pick out the connecting scenes between the two stories. If you haven't read that one, then please make sure to check it out!
> 
> IMPORTANT NOTE:
> 
> If you don't know Natsume Soseki's, "The moon is beautiful", it basically means "I love you".

Tsukishima Kei’s world goes from rainbow to gray in an instant when he’s 14.

 

He likes dinosaurs and strawberry shortcake. He enjoys listening to music – anything that isn’t punk rock – and he likes systematic designs.

 

Now that he’s 19 nearing 20, he wonders if there’s a point.

 

A point, in even _appreciating_ something.

 

The world functioned upon a hierarchy. It didn’t matter what kind – economic, social, or political – the universe revolved around a pyramid, throughout the entire scope of history until the present.

 

A definite fact, however, was that amongst it all, what really mattered was _talent._ The natural ability, he analyzed, to do well at something – to do something better than others. The ability to always stay at the top, the ability to surmount and overcome everything else. That was pure talent.

 

 _That_ was what Tsukishima Kei never had.

 

“Tsukishima, are you fucking _listening?_ ”

 

His eyelashes fluttered at the demand, as he redirected his attention to his highly irate high school colleague. “Totally.”

 

“ _Jesus Christ,_ you’re _always_ like that- what the hell can you even –“ Kageyama sucked in a compromising breath, his fingernails digging into the tablecloth, as he rubbed his palm over his eyes. “… As I was saying, we need a new vocalist. I was planning to have it covered with the existing members, but our sounds combined are too different from what I imagined. We need someone – that doesn’t stand out too much to overwhelm what we produce.”

 

Drying his hands off with a towel, Tsukishima finally sat down on his own stool opposite from where Kageyama was seated on the exterior of the bar area. “We can just push forth with the instrumentals for now.” He suggested, resting his chin on his hand.

 

But Kageyama scowled repulsively. “’Feathers’ is already undergoing a fucking bodily transformation as is. The only original members that remain are you and Nishinoya-san, and that’s already 60 percent gone. We can’t just alter the entire formation of the band too.”

 

Clucking his tongue, Tsukishima stirred the straw of the glass of water in front of him. “For once, you’re being logical.”

 

“What the _fuck_ did you say?” Lashed out the new lead guitarist, kicking the table leg that rattled the surface.

 

“We’ll find one before the Christmas concert, so calm your dumbass brain.” The spectacled boy grunted, rolling his eyes. “For the mean time, shouldn’t you focus more on how to finally confess your wilting love for Hinata?”

 

“ _YOU –“_ Kageyama exploded as he stood from the chair, his jaw cracking at the impact, but he snapped it back to place and slumped down. Anger management was something he was working on, ever since his devastating fallout with Hinata during high school when he got carried away with the altercation. “… I’m _trying._ I’m fucking trying, and that shithead can’t even read the mood –“

 

“That’s really funny, coming from you,” Tsukishima snorted, and that earned him a venomous glare.

 

“Don’t _you_ have your fair share of issues?” Shot Kageyama instead, as he shoved his hands into his jean pockets. “You always have that rooster head guy trying to flirt with you after concerts. Or here.”

 

Tsukishima actually bothered to squint his eyes at the blatantly unnecessary mention. “He doesn’t know what he really wants.” He finally managed, applying pressure to his temples using his fingertips. “It’s completely minor compared to your major shoujo manga tale with Hinata.”

 

“Actually,” Crossing his legs, Kageyama countered, “I think he knows very fucking well what he wants, and that is to primarily fuck you into the nearest surface, _but_ for the holy mother of fuck can you _stop_ pulling that fucking idiot into this conversation?”

 

It’s Tsukishima’s turn for the venomous glare. “Shut the fuck up, Kageyama, I don’t want to hear that from a person with such limited vocabulary.”

 

“Yeah, because a person’s SAT score determines their value as an individual.” The other man grunted, as he finally removed himself from his seat and gathered his belongings. “You were always that fucking way, Tsukishima. I always fucking hated that aspect of you – I still do.”

 

 _What would you know?_ Tsukishima bitterly retorted, “The feeling is blissfully mutual, King.”

 

Kageyama hollered another cuss at him before fully exiting through the doorway. The bar was empty and tranquil again, the faint jazz music audible at last. Tsukishima simply never understood why the duo – Kageyama and Hinata – could be so incessantly disruptive, that _that_ had to be a talent of sorts.

 

His thoughts lingered back to what Kageyama had commented on earlier: about Kuroo.

 

Kuroo Tetsurou, by all means, was Tsukishima’s epitome of his least favorite type of person. Kageyama was loud, but he knew private space and stayed out of others’ businesses. Hinata could be nosy, but he was just stupid and everything he did was frankly, quite unintentional. Nishinoya was _also_ overly hyperactive, but he was straightforward and honest and knew when to not interrupt something critical.

 

Kuroo Tetsurou, on the other hand, didn’t give a shit.

 

He was nosy and it was perfectly intentional, he knew private space and yet proceeded to intrude it, he was shrewd and intelligent enough to perceive what to intercept and what not to and yet ignored it and traveled along his instincts, and was the furthest thing from straightforward and honest.

 

 _Despicable._ Tsukishima gritted his teeth as he dabbed the sponge at the glass platters. Ukai admonished him from the corner seat to not break the plates while washing them, and the blonde complied reluctantly, relaxing his shoulders.

 

He really shouldn’t be this irritated by something – _someone_ , so trivial. But Kuroo ticked Tsukishima off in every mannerism possible, that whole situation just seemed outwardly asinine.

 

The bell clinked from the doorway, and a pretty, silver-gray-haired man rushed in, his high voice shouting a greeting and an apology. “Tsukishima! I’m sorry I’m so late; I never knew the traffic was going to be so terrible- god, I’ll just quickly change, so leave the dishes and I’ll do the rest, alright?”

 

“You’re just 15 minutes late, Sugawara-san. It’s not the end of the world.”

 

“Well, sure, but I still feel like an asshole.” Replied Sugawara from the closest locker room, as he soon briskly walked into the bar area.

 

“You can be anything but an asshole, Sugawara, like seriously.” Ukai chuckled, putting down his newspaper. “I’m going to take my leave now, too. Tell Sawamura and Azumane that I said hi.” Slipping his arms through his coat sleeves, the older man stood up.

 

“A date with your Japanese Literature professor?” Smirked Tsukishima knowingly, but Ukai didn’t really deny the snide remark, instead simply grunted and marched out of the bar towards the exit. Sugawara took his place in rinsing the dishes, and so he went to change as well.

 

 _The gay level of this bar is truly fascinating, I swear to god._ Sugawara was dating Sawamura, Nishinoya was dating Azumane, and Kageyama and Hinata’s obsolete crushes over one another since high school – at this point, the only straight couple Tsukishima was aware of was Yamaguchi and Yachi.

 

Of course, then there were the customers, such as Sawamura’s best friend in uni, Iwaizumi, that tagged along every now and then when he just had to half-brag-half-slander his ex-boyfriend, and finally, well.

 

There was the Kuroo fiasco.

 

Their first encounter was through a small live concert in March, which was around 3 months ago in the Karasuno bar’s basement. Kuroo frequented the bar even before their performance, but Tsukishima never got to meet him as he was only a member of the band and wasn’t working in the bar then, Sugawara being the only bartender. Kuroo had tried flirting with Sugawara, but was abruptly put to a dismal stop, as Sawamura not so kindly confronted him about it. Now the three were like best friends, and Tsukishima wasn’t even sure how that worked.

 

 _“I… I think I have a crush on you. In fact, screw that – I have a fucking crush on you. Wanna go out with me?”_ Kuroo had asked him out, and Tsukishima responded with a terse ‘no, go fuck yourself’. He figured that’d be sufficient for someone that had a worldview such as Kuroo’s, as in, everyone on the planet was to be fucked or not be fucked in bed.

 

Oh, was he so wrong.

 

“Hey, Tsukki.”

 

 _Fantastic._ Tsukishima clucked his tongue, as he met eyes with the devil that was leaning comfortably against the brick wall. He swiftly ignored him, but Kuroo just speedily detached himself from the wall and skipped along with Tsukishima’s fast pace.

 

“How was your day? Mine was like living in a dystopia without you in it, I swear.”

 

“You might as well just live in a dystopia for the rest of your life.”

 

“If you don’t love me back, I’m sure that’ll find its way.”

 

“Great, good luck in your Hunger Games future.”

 

“Tsukki, you liked _Hunger Games_?”

 

 _How does this imbecile always discover a route to continue a conversation?_ Tsukishima marveled, in a bad way. “No. I stopped reading after the first book.”

 

“Not a fan of dystopia?”

 

“Yes, as you can see from the fact of how I treat you in general.”

 

“Well, that’s fair, as I don’t want you to be my fan but my boyfriend.” With that sleazy smile, Kuroo shifted his body close to Tsukishima’s, in which the minor squirmed away. “Have you gotten anything to eat yet? Because I haven’t.”

 

“Then please have a scrumptious dinner alone.”

 

“Oh, come on. I’ll treat you, plus dessert. How does that sound?” While Tsukishima wouldn’t normally fall for such cheap bribery, he _was_ starving. And he could really use a free meal, as he was saving up money to purchase new headphones – his old ones were now dysfunctional, after Hinata had dropped them in the river (and jumped into it to retrieve them).

 

Sighing, he assented. “Fine.”

 

“You’re awesome – what about that Vietnamese place down there? They have nice spring rolls and noodles.”

 

“Anything is doable for me.”

 

They strode down the street until they found the restaurant. Tsukishima ordered beef noodles, while Kuroo went with fish. Dinners, or meals like this were pretty common between the two of them, and it was only because Kuroo was willing to pay for everything. The bespectacled man couldn’t comprehend the reason why Kuroo was investing so much into this dwindling relationship, but as long as he got his free food and dessert, it wasn’t really much of his business.

 

Kuroo went along and talked about his day. “… So Tooru flipped out, you know, because I ate his pudding this time. He’s _really_ sulky nowadays, and keeps on rambling on about his fucking ex, and then suddenly pretends like he’s all okay about it. It’s annoying.”

 

Tsukishima didn’t know much about two of Kuroo’s best friends, excluding Sawamura and Sugawara that he had just met a few months ago. Their names were Oikawa Tooru and Bokuto Koutarou, both athletes and crazy – at least, that’s what Tsukishima could tell from the stories.

 

“We have a customer like that too.” Nibbling on the crisp edge of the spring roll, the bartender’s faint memory of Iwaizumi Hajime passed by. “He’s a box of sentimental memories when it comes to his ex.” Iwaizumi studied business law in the same university as Tsukishima, and they met on campus every now and then, but they weren’t very close in particular. The only connection they had was through Sawamura, and the fact that Iwaizumi loved Japanese sake over western cocktails.

 

Kuroo snorted, unimpressed. “Tooru can’t even compare. He bases his sex partners off his ex’s features. He –“ Freezing midway, Kuroo closed his mouth and lowered his chopsticks. His lips twisted into an awkward angle, and Tsukishima could vaguely guess what he was about to say. He briefly touched upon the time when Kuroo was slightly drunk and rambled about his own sex partners every now and then, and Oikawa’s name had shortly appeared.

 

“Thank you for the meal. Can I get my dessert and go home now?” Unfazed, Tsukishima impassively stared at Kuroo, who seemed somewhat guilty. “I’ll be ordering the most expensive thing on the menu if you continue on like that.”

 

“I’m a broke uni student, Tsukki, you can’t just drive me into poverty.”

 

“You were the one that wanted me to eat with you.”

 

“Touché.” Kuroo breaks into a long smile, and handed the dessert menu to Tsukishima. The latter flipped through the pages and settled his eyes on the strawberry shortcake. “You really like strawberry shortcakes, don’t you?” Laughed the raven, as he shouted his order to the lady near the kitchen counter.

 

“Everyone has a sweet tooth to a certain extent.” Defensive, Tsukishima grumbled, fondling with a piece of tissue he hadn’t used. Everyone found it fascinating that he enjoyed desserts – they assumed he’d be the type to like salty caramel, if anything. The truth is, Tsukishima hates salty caramel.

 

But Kuroo just chuckles on. “I guess that’s true. I have a fetish for tiramisu. Do you like tiramisu, Tsukki?”

 

“I suppose it’s fine.”

 

“Then I’ll treat you next time.” And just like that, Kuroo arranges another meal for them without any further discussion. Tsukishima, at this point, knows its meaningless to argue, as Kuroo will visit him at the bar and drag him along when he knows Tsukishima needs a free meal. The man was sly and devilish that way.

 

So instead, Tsukishima just nibbled on the strawberry shortcake that the waitress put down in front of Kuroo – in which he pushed it towards the blonde, snickering.

 

Tsukishima frowned but took a bite of the triangular end of the soft cake.

 

It’s too sweet.

 

* * *

 

 

_“Kei. Have you understood?”_

_No, father._

_“Look at Akiteru. Look what happened to your brother.”_

_Akiteru? He said he was doing fine._

_“That’s what he’ll tell you, Kei. Kei, listen. There are only two types of people in this world. The talented, and the talentless.”_

_But Akiteru loves his camera. He loves his art._

_“It’s not a matter of passion.”_

_“Wake up from your dreams, Kei.”_

_“A moon can’t shine on its own.”_

He choked, his fingers clawing into his futon. His overgrown blonde hair tickled his eyelids, and he felt a bead of cold sweat travel down his earlobe. It was the same dream. He wasn’t even fazed at this point – it was something of common occurrence. Dragging his feet to the bathroom, he brushed his teeth, the hairs of toothbrush lazily moved around.

 

A cheerier voice called from the kitchen, “Hey, Kei. Do you want your eggs scrambled?”

 

“Whichever.” He spat into the sink and washed his face.

 

“No ‘good morning’?” Akiteru grinned goofily, a bottle of cooking oil in one hand, and chopsticks in another. Kei briefly muttered a ‘good morning’, and changed into a dark green long-sleeved shirt and black jeans. His brother put down a plate of scrambled eggs with grilled tomatoes and two strips of bacon in front of him.

 

Nibbling on his breakfast, the younger Tsukishima questioned, “You’re going somewhere?”

 

“Yeah, this time it’s Denmark. I’m going to Oresund Bridge for our tourist column, and hopefully I’ll have some extra time to visit other places in Copenhagen too. Do you want any souvenirs?” His brother worked as a professional photographer in a small magazine publisher company that mostly dealt with environmental issues or tourist spots around the world. Many of the photos at Karasuno Bar were taken by his brother, and bought by Ukai.

 

“I’m good. Get some for your wild girlfriend.”

 

“Saeko? Well, I’m actually wondering what I should get her. She really likes ice cream, so maybe something ice cream-related? Any sharp ideas, Kei?”

 

Kei rolled his eyes, and placed his dishes in the sink. His brother’s girlfriend, Tanaka Saeko, was the wildest woman he ever met in his entire life, and so was her little brother, Ryuunosuke, that was only a year older than Tsukishima. Although Saeko worked as a painter, Tanaka didn’t go to university and learned to play the taiko instead.

 

“Have a nice day at school! Don’t die until I’m back, and eat some free meals from that hot guy that has a crush on you!”

 

“He is _not_ –“ Tsukishima was too worn out in the morning to retort back completely. Instead, he sluggishly drooped down on the seat of his bike, and began to pedal. He has biochemistry first period, and then a few other business classes he took for his major, etc. His shift isn’t until 7 in the evening, and Suga was taking care of it until then. Overall, it had to be a pretty relaxed day.

 

He curtly stopped in front of his usual café 5 minutes from campus, and ordered an espresso and butter croissant. While waiting for his food, he decided to sit in the table nearby – until he heard a voice shouting his name.

 

“Oi, Tsukishima!”

 

Tsukishima looked up. There he saw Nishinoya and Sawamura, along with Iwaizumi, who kind of nodded at him awkwardly.

 

“Nishinoya-san, you’re publically shaming all of us.” The blonde grunted, but his (surprisingly) older upperclassman didn’t seem to care in the least.

 

“I never knew you frequented this café.” Sawamura, like the pacifying wave of the conversation, swiftly smoothened out the disruptive Nishinoya. “An espresso really does fit you in a way, though.”

 

Tsukishima shrugged. He never really placed too much of his free time on whether victuals of his choice reflected his persona. The waiter read his order aloud, and so he hurriedly received it, eager to leave as soon as possible. There were around four people Tsukishima couldn’t deal with in the morning, and one of them just happened to be Nishinoya.

 

“Tsukishima, you’re coming to practice today, aren’t you?” Said drummer exclaimed, and Tsukishima swore every single customer in the café turned to scowl at them. Public civil manners at best, he thought.

 

“I am, so would you please stop that, Nishinoya-san?”

 

“Stop what?”

 

“… Never mind.” As the argument was definitely not worth his time, Tsukishima departed and got back on his bike, the butter croissant’s crispy end in his mouth.

 

Least to say, it was a quite cloudy morning. Tsukishima reminded himself bitterly that he didn’t bring his umbrella along with him today. A rancorous dream, a rowdy Nishinoya, and unfavorable weather – his day was off to a rough start.

 

His fears were confirmed in the late afternoon, during band practice. Without a vocalist, they were still void of critical impact. Their sound was a lot heavier and mellow before Kageyama and Hinata joined, and to be blunt, Tsukishima felt music was a lot easier then. Sawamura and Sugawara were very consistent players, and although Tanaka was more rambunctious than preferred, his drumming skills were passable. Asahi’s voice matched their band well, and harmonized with their sound.

 

With the new members, everything was always changing, morphing into something entirely new – and Tsukishima had to keep up with that during any of their improvised plays. This was one of those days.

 

 _Tch._ He clucked his tongue, his fingers jittery across the keys, forcefully asserting the fortissimo. His beat was slightly off, and his melody didn’t match the rest.

 

All music abruptly paused as Kageyama’s guitar zoned out. The raven snapped, “ _Tsukishima_ , are you even fucking trying here? That’s the fourth time today you fell behind the rhythm!”

 

“Not _everyone’s_ a musical prodigy, my bad.” Said the blonde through gritted teeth, his fingers pressing down on random keys as they squeaked a cacophonous noise and died out.

 

“That’s not my point here – I’m asking you if you actually want to fucking _do_ this, because there are tons of other keyboardists we can find – ones that are actually _willing_ to participate –“

 

“Kageyama, calm down –“

 

“ _No,_ you fucking stay out of this, Hinata –“

 

Tsukishima sucked in an acrid breath. Nishinoya had his arms crossed over his chest as he sat on his own customized stool, and Kageyama’s face was red as Hinata tried to hold him back from destroying the instruments.

 

“It’s nice to have talent.”

 

The room suddenly fell dead quiet, and Kei realized he let that slip. The guitarist’s face turned sheet white, and even Hinata’s hands loosened their grip on Kageyama’s jacket sleeve.

 

“You’re always fucking like that.” Tobio seethed, his voice low and venomous. “It’s all about the talent. Ever since volleyball, you’re always so stubborn about being gifted, being naturally skilled – do you ever even _think_ how hard people have to try to get there?”

 

 _I have._ He responded mentally, _I’ve seen broken people. People that shattered while getting there. People that had to stop because they had no choice._ But he never said that aloud. It was pointless now. “… I’m going to my shift.” Unplugging the chord for the amplifier, Tsukishima picked up his backpack in the corner and twisted the doorknob. Nobody stopped him, and nobody bid him farewells.

 

He put his headphones over his ears and put the music on max volume. He wasn’t even sure what he was listening to – he just didn’t want anything to interrupt him. He pedaled up the steep slope to the bar, and parked it nearby Ukai’s Toyota.

 

“Oh, Tsukishima, you’re here already? That’s pretty early!” Sugawara’s smile was dazzling, even as he held a squid for the calamari in his hand. “Well, that’s awesome anyway. I actually forgot that I decided to meet up with Daichi a few minutes before my shift ended, and I was about to text him and apologize that I totally messed up the times.”

 

Putting his belongings in the locker, Tsukishima mumbled, “You can go. I’ll take care of the rest.”

 

“God, are you serious? I owe you an early shift. Tell me if you need one next time!” And with that, Suga changed into his casual clothes in a blink and flew out of the bar for Sawamura.

 

He worked on the calamari as Suga left, and served a few of their usual guests, minimal words exchanged between them. And he was quite delighted that he’d at least be running on an eventless shift for once, until the door swung open and crashed into the wall.

 

Ukai was the first one to look up from his newspaper and beam at their newcomer. “Oh, Bokuto! You’ve come again with a companion, have you?”

 

A tang of sourness fell over Tsukishima. Bokuto Koutarou always brought unruliness with him.

 

“Ukai-san! I still can’t believe Kuro kept such a cool place all to himself. It’s unfair!”

 

Kuroo had introduced him to his friends once, when he brought them all to this bar. They were all idiots in unison, that Tsukishima found it to be a miracle to have people this eccentric in one place.

 

Tsukishima rejoined, “To reduce the level of idiocy that’s already soaring in here, probably.”

 

“Tsukki, you’re so mean! I don’t understand why Tetsu is so hung over you.” Out of all honesty, Tsukishima has no clue about that second point either.

 

“Don’t call me Tsukki,” Sighing as he wiped the cups, Tsukishima noticed that there was indeed, another companion that Bokuto had invited. The man had forest green eyes and pale skin, and seemed rather nervous as he stuck close to Bokuto – he wasn’t anything like Kuroo or Oikawa, that barged into the bar and ordered seven glasses of champagne within the first twenty seconds.

 

Bokuto grinned as he faced the male, “That guy’s name is Tsukishima Kei, but we all call him Tsukki. Tsukishima, this awesome guy is Akaashi Keiji.”

 

Akaashi Keiji merely stared at him with those wide pretty eyes, and Tsukishima had a fairly accurate hunch on their relationship.

 

“Nice to meet you.” Nodded Akaashi, and Tsukishima returned the gesture.

 

“Tsukishima Kei. It’d be my greatest honor if you don’t resort to calling me that childish nickname as well. Would you like a drink?” He asked, as he reset a cup on the metal holders.

 

“Water, please.”

 

“Sparkling or distilled?”

 

“Distilled.”

 

With the order, Tsukishima headed into the kitchen, and opened the refrigerator for their mineral water. Akaashi Keiji was definitely not the type of person Kuroo usually hung out with, but he could imagine why Bokuto seemed to be heads over heels for the guy. Bokuto had always admired beautiful things, and Akaashi was just the guy for him. He appeared intelligent and shrewd and to the point, and was also incredibly attractive.

 

He gazed upon his reflection as he balanced the oil out on the pan. It wasn’t like Tsukishima wasn’t attractive or anything of the sort – he believed he was average, albeit not top tier. But Kuroo was the kind of man that could practically entrance any human being with his charms – he was mysterious but a dork, smart but goofy, and a walking sex toy.

 

Everything that Tsukishima did wasn’t terrible. They could all receive passing marks, whether that was his grades, his piano skills, his appearance, his volleyball experience, etc. But they also weren’t fascinating, or worthy of particular praise. Mediocre, probably.

 

He proceeded to wash the pile of dishes at the sink when he overheard Bokuto and Akaashi’s conversation.

 

“What’re you looking at, Akaashi?”

 

“Uh- the photograph.”

 

“Oh, that? Yeah, that’s a good one, don’t you think? Tsukki, who took that picture again?”

 

In the corner of his eye, he could see the night sky his brother snapped near Mount Fuji, where he stayed awake overnight just waiting for the skies to clear. “My brother.” He swallowed, “He’s a photographer.”

 

His pulse quickened for some reason, and he had no idea why. It felt like he was put onstage for a score like his brother’s photograph was being judged along with him.

 

“It’s beautiful.”

 

A plate clattered to the bottom of the sink as the comment was uttered, and Tsukishima just froze right there on his feet, his hands hovering in the air with a dripping sponge. He instinctively wanted to grab Akaashi’s shoulders and demand vehemently, ‘ _Really? Do you actually think so?’_ , but his voice was glued to the walls of his constricted throat. A part of him was consumed with disbelief, and the rest went completely blank.

 

* * *

 

 

“… You’re here.”

 

“I wanted to see you.”

 

“You always say that.”

 

“Because it’s true every time.”

 

Tsukishima exhaled through his nose, as he switched off the lights of the bar. Ukai had gone home an hour ago, and usually most customers decided to leave around his time as well. But there leaned Kuroo Tetsurou on the doorframe, holding two umbrellas in his grasp.

 

“Bokuto-san visited today.” Tsukishima updated, although he wasn’t certain why he was doing so, “He brought a man with him.”

 

Kuroo hummed, “His name Akaashi Keiji, by any chance?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Expected that. Bo’s been insane about that guy for the past month or so – something about a voice fetish or whatever.” Handing him the black umbrella, Kuroo smiled, and Tsukishima thanked him briefly and locked the doors of the bar. It was pouring outdoors, as they exited the dry vicinity. “And he apparently has super pretty eyes or something, like emerald beads. Is it true?”

 

Tsukishima recalled Akaashi’s finely structured face – “I suppose.”

 

“Not like emeralds can compare to the moon, though.” Attaching the side of his arm to Tsukishima’s, Kuroo put his red umbrella over his head.

 

“I don’t see the moon today.”

 

“I’m talking about _your_ eyes, you mood breaker.”

 

“Or maybe you watched too many trash romance movies, Kuroo-san.”

 

“You’d know true trashy movies if you came over to our place.”

 

“And I never will, so no worries.”

 

His hands vibrated along with the fierce raindrops that hit the round surface of his umbrella. Kuroo hadn’t snuck a whining comment to his cool statement, and that was quite off. Tsukishima stole a glimpse to the right, where Kuroo’s dark orbs were hidden beneath his bangs. His lips were thinned, and he seemed to be contemplating about something.

 

“You know, Tsukishima,” His foot almost paralyzed as he took another step, upon hearing the unfamiliar usage of his actual name from Kuroo. There was only one other time amongst their numerous encounters where Kuroo addressed him by his surname, and that was their first one. “If you’re really against going out with me, you should say something.”

 

A painful jolt squeezed his inner linings. Kuroo had confessed to him the first day they met. Tsukishima had turned him down, but was never particularly opposed to eating random dinners with the man, or occasionally heading out for a new movie. It wasn’t like Tsukishima had anything better to do than practice new pieces on his keyboard.

 

Their relationship was translucent. Tsukishima’s feelings towards Kuroo were still unidentified. Kuroo’s insistent cause was still unsolved.

 

“Where is this coming from?”

 

“If you’re interested, then that’s cool. But if you’re not interested, then, well. You should just tell me out flat.” Kuroo wore a cautious expression, his hand rubbing the back of his neck anxiously.

 

“You’re the one that baits people with free meals, Kuroo-san.”

 

“I do, but you accept in circumstances where you can refuse.”

 

A growing, ugly pit of agitation curled inside the blonde. “I’m not in that much position of luxury, being a freshman that lives off making drinks for people.”

 

“I’m _aware_ of that, but that’s not my point.” With his feline-like eyes, Kuroo’s gaze brushed over Tsukishima. It caused a cold shudder to run down the latter’s spine. “What do you want to be with me? Meal buddies?”

 

Tsukishima wished he could contend with that rhetorical question in some way. But he realized that he never actually gave much thought to it, other than Kuroo being a slightly irksome guy, a flamboyant flirt, and –

 

“… Or have you just met me because you had nothing better to do?”

 

 _Nothing better to do._ The words struck Tsukishima like a bucket of ice.

 

“You’re trying to say that I’m playing with your emotions,” With a low tremor tingling in his shaky voice, Tsukishima gripped the handle of his umbrella. “When you’ve been fooling around with a list of other people just like this?” He actually possessed no solid evidence that Kuroo was fooling around with other people. It was just a hunch – or he was just desperate to hold on to his impression of Kuroo – the gaudy, fraud Kuroo contained.

 

Even now, he could only see the bottom half of Kuroo’s face from this angle. “ _That’s_ how you think of me?” The red umbrella descended, and Tsukishima held his breath. He saw the cross of Kuroo’s brows, the way he bit down on his lip, and how his brown eyes expressed raw hurt. His hair that usually shot up north was stuck to his forehead and scalp, his bed head nowhere. “I haven’t met anyone after –“ His voice faltered, and Tsukishima realized his grave mistake.

 

Tossing his red umbrella to the side, Kuroo twisted to the left in the pouring rain and whispered,

 

“Forget it.”

 

 _Kuroo-san._ The name was enunciated clearly in his head, but he couldn’t verbalize it. _Kuroo-san._ Syllables reverberated within him, as he sunk to the puddles of rainwater and let out a silent groan. His heart was screaming at him to run and catch the man, that it wasn’t too late if he sprinted right now.

 

And while Kei was fully aware of that, he was also aware that his feelings were still as opaque as the sky above him.

 

* * *

 

 

A month later, Tsukishima was awoken by the click of his front door.

 

“Kei, I’m back!”

 

Crawling out of his futon, Tsukishima fumbled for his spectacles and stifled a yawn, as he slid to the living room. “Took you long enough.”

 

His brother was removing plastic bags filled with paper boxes from his suitcase. “I got souvenirs for everyone – god, I wonder if Saeko’s going to like this one – here’s yours, Kei –“ Tsukishima received the box with one hand, the other locking the door his brother left wide open. “Man, it was so beautiful. I took so many great pictures – I have to show them to Ukai-san, he’ll love them, I swear! Some tourists were willing to purchase them on the spot when I showed them off, and it was so damn spectacular, you get what I mean?”

 

The little brother left the question hanging, as he opened the box he was presented. It was a box of chocolates, half of them strawberry-shortcake flavored. Tsukishima crinkled his nose at the image and tossed them into the fridge, not entirely sure if he’d ever take them out ever again.

 

“I have other things, too! Some for your coworkers at the bar, and some for your band members – oh, and also one for the guy that has the hots for you, since he gets you free meals and everything. Gotta show gratitude, right?” Akiteru chortled, as he formed a stack of wrapped presents and bags to one side.

 

“… He doesn’t have the hots for me, or whatever you say.” Reaching for the kettle, Tsukishima filled his mug with chilled coffee. When he gulped down the liquid, it left a cheap, instant kind of taste.

 

The rustling of plastic stopped, and Tsukishima could naturally tell that Akiteru was staring at him. “What, did he turn you down before you gave him a proper answer?”

 

“No,” Twitching a little, the taller boy slumped down onto the couch with the mug in his hand. “He just cut ties for the better.”

 

“Cut ties for the better.” Slowly repeating after him, Akiteru put down the box he was working on. “But I thought you liked him, too?”

 

 _What?_ “What the hell made you think _that_?”

 

“Well, I mean. You always seemed… entertained, when you told me about him – and that only ever happened when you used to bring Tadashi over, so I just assumed –“

 

“Don’t talk about Yamaguchi right now.”

 

“Yeah, sorry, but just saying. All my point is that he seems to have the same effect that Tadashi had on you when you were in high school, and that’s pretty rare. If I misunderstood, then sure – but I still want you to get these souvenirs to them.”

 

Glowering, Tsukishima shot a meaningful look at the stack of presents. “I’m not your personal deliveryman.”

 

“True, but the term ‘little brother’ is synonymous for many others. I’ll at least get Saeko’s and Ryuunosuke’s portions, so you just get the rest.”

 

“Helpful.” With a disgruntled expression, Tsukishima went back into his room. It was supposedly a peaceful weekend, until this happened. Ever since then, he and Kageyama were on wordless terms, and although he went to practice like he ought to, everything was just wrong, like a piece was missing. Although Hinata tried his best to keep the band together, just like when Kageyama and Tsukishima had fallen apart numerous times in high school, it just wasn’t enough now. At least in high school, there was Yamaguchi that’d force Tsukishima to make up with Tobio. Now, he was quite irrelevant to the trio.

 

The only people that continuously drank at the bar were Daichi and Iwaizumi, as the latter ranted about his ex-boyfriend again every now and then. He’d never mention a name, but according to his tirades, his ex was a pretty tiresome person to deal with.

 

“Why did you even date him?” Tsukishima frowned, as he served the third can of Heineken. Iwaizumi always preferred cans over glass bottles.

 

“Fuck, who knows?” Angrily tearing the seal apart, Iwaizumi chugged down the long can. “I concluded it was pretty damn romantic when it was going on.” Sawamura passed him an apologetic smile as he rubbed Iwaizumi’s back. It wasn’t like Iwaizumi always frequented to the bar to just rant, but that’s what he usually did. “It was an unrequited love of fifteen years or whatever. I wasn’t about to miss that opportunity, because that’d make me a fucking dickless idiot.”

 

Tsukishima snorted at the mental image. “You’re pretty stupid to date someone knowing that he was a jerk for the worst fifteen years of your life.”

 

Iwaizumi made a strangled noise, and the bartender was glad that there were no other customers on the floor. “He was a shitface, sure, but that’s not who he was. He was passionate and determined. He never lost sight of his goal when he found one for himself, and stuck to his principles.”

 

“So why did you even break up?” Normally, Tsukishima wasn’t a curious person. But today, he needed an answer. His brother’s commentary lingered at the back of his mind, regarding Yamaguchi and high school, and Kuroo and his current situation.

 

“Because we were too certain that we fucking understood each other. He had real _potential._ I always knew, even though he berated his abilities and doubted. The thing is,” Iwaizumi breathed out drunkenly, “I didn’t. He was so intent on the fact that I did – but we had to face reality. He was pro material, and I wasn’t. The court was his home, but it wasn’t mine. If we properly discussed this instead of imposing one another’s shitty ideals, then we probably wouldn’t have ended that way.”

 

Tsukishima couldn’t relate. He never _understood_ Kuroo, and therefore had no confidence regarding his level of knowledge about the man. There were times he inquired questions he didn’t want to vocalize in his head, as Kuroo bombarded him with his own. ‘What’s your favorite food’, or ‘favorite movie’, or ‘favorite song’, etc. Tsukishima never asked – because Kuroo would tell him his answer before he even had to.

 

Perhaps, _because_ they were baseless to begin with, they had a definite starting line.

 

“Tsukishima?”

 

His shoulders jerked in surprise, as Sawamura waved his hand in front of his face. “You alright? You were kind of zoning out there.” Iwaizumi had dropped to the table and was snoring quietly before he knew it.

 

“… I’m good.”

 

“Yeah? Well, I’m here if you need someone to talk to.” With his paternal smile, Sawamura sipped his glass of sake. He had high alcohol tolerance, but preferred to drink the minimal amount. Tsukishima resumed to his work, and assisted Daichi and Iwaizumi getting a cab for the drunken companion. Tsukishima closed up the bar, and stared at his phone that used to be feverishly warm due to Kuroo’s messages and missed calls.

 

**_[Last message: 1 month ago]_ **

_“If we properly discussed this instead of imposing one another’s shitty ideals, then we probably wouldn’t have ended that way.”_

“But there was nothing to end,” He whispered – once again, it was a moonless night.

 

* * *

 

 

 _“Kuroo,_ fucking get your shit together, oh my god. The last thing I need is seeing Tobio confess to the Shrimp and _then_ seeing you all over our living room naked.”

 

“I _know,_ but it just- I don’t even know why I’m trying so hard, you know? He’s not even vaguely interested as I am towards him, and I feel like I’m just wasting his damn time –“

 

“You’re doing it because you fucking love him, and that’s totally normal; what do you not _comprehend_ about that? But if you just cut off all contact with him for what is now bordering two months, then this is absolutely ridiculous. _I_ will _not_ approve!” Oikawa shrieked, stepping on Kuroo haphazardly as he wore nothing but his neon blue alien pajama pants. Bokuto was out with Akaashi (“How are _they_ not dating yet, Jesus Christ,” Oikawa internally thought)

 

Kuroo muffled nonsense into his pillow. Oikawa seized the ‘kicking back fiasco’ and dropped to their couch. “Look, Tetsu, it’s up to you if you want to do this or not. Personally? I don’t give a shit. As your best friend, I do sympathize with you on the point that he misjudged- well, not really, but he _continuously_ misjudged you with your sex-life status, and how you felt hurt that your efforts didn’t reflect the results, blah, blah. But _you’re_ the one that’s in love, and I know it sucks but it’s the truth and the only confirmed truth presently. It’s either you transform that or keep it stale.”

 

The black-haired male rolled over to his side and detached his face from the pillow. “I _know_ that, with my tainted rep and shit – ugh, I should’ve kept myself away from those girls when Bokuto did.”

 

“Too late now – I can’t believe I’m the only one that acts like a prostitute in this trio, like what the hell, that’s not fair.”

 

“Shockingly, you’ve been in love with the same person for 19 years of your life.”

 

“I mean,” Oikawa laid his head backward on the cushions. “It’s not really ‘love’ at this point. It’s not really something I want to stick a label on.”

 

“Huh,” _I don’t really get it,_ emptily followed Kuroo, as he gazed drowsily at Tooru. Oikawa had always been so lost in this ‘Iwaizumi Hajime’ his whole life and entire history with Kuroo – from sex hookies to masturbation, his life seemed to revolve around Iwaizumi, whom he so cutely addressed as ‘Iwa-chan’. But Tooru was just so immersed in this guy – this guy that Kuroo only ever interacted with through digital photographs and social media stalking – that he was afraid he might lose him sometimes. Perhaps, that was because Kuroo never truly understood ‘love’ in the romantic context.

 

“Don’t you remember what Kou-chan said?”

 

“Bo what?”

 

“That he felt like his world just twisted around its axis. That’s probably too dramatically explicated, but then again – his was love at first sight, and mine was much more gradual. When you’re in love, per se, your whole universe will morph. It’ll be shaped around that specific person, and you won’t be able to stop it unless something happens.”

 

 _Morphing, huh,_ he couldn’t quite grasp the emotion. Despite how he came off, Kuroo wasn’t a romantic. Sure, he loved to act like one – but as a person that never fell in ‘true love’, he felt the title was wasted on him. “Do you think I’m in love with Tsukki?”

 

“Who knows?” Oikawa tore open a bag of chips and popped a flat barbeque-flavored chip into his mouth. “That’s something you’ll have to figure out for yourself. But I mean, if you’ve been holding back on your sexual desires just to convince him that you’re simply _interested_ in him, then – you know?”

 

“Touché.” Hugging his pillow tightly, Kuroo groaned into it again. He had taken his emotions as a heavy crush of sorts – not anything like love, although he glossed it all over his cheesy phrases and pick up lines. But that day – when Tsukishima said that he’d never come over, completely ruled out the possibility itself – something churned within Kuroo, and he was overwhelmed with confusion, disappointment, and brokenness.

 

Oikawa munched noisily on the fried potatoes, and then heaved a relenting sigh. “Just get your shit together already. You know I can’t deal with fucking two lovesick idiots in the apartment, right? Two lovesick idiots that are skillfully accomplishing _nothing_ in their non-progressive love lives?” Kuroo hauled his pillow towards the man, in which Oikawa caught between his wrists.

 

After a few good seconds, Kuroo made up his mind and grabbed his phone, scrolling down his contact list for Tsukishima’s name, until –

 

**_[You have 1 new message.]_ **

****

_Out of all times, who is –_

**_[From: Tsukki <3_ **

**_To: Me_ **

****

**_Are you free today?]_ **

****

“Holy shit.”

 

* * *

 

“I _get_ it. You two are tooth-rottingly cute together, so stop making those giggly noises in the bar.”

 

“It’s _Hinata_ giggling, dumbass.”

 

“What? _You’re_ the cause of it, Bakageyama!”

 

Tsukishima has the urge to hurl the wine glass he’s wiping clean into that blob of orange hair. Approximately half an hour ago, he had directly witnessed Kageyama confessing to Hinata while fucking _setting a volleyball_ to him (these volleyball idiots), and Oikawa, who just happened to be in the area, made a vomiting gesture and swatted them away. After that, they somehow ended up in the Karasuno bar, with Kageyama and Hinata ordering drinks as they flirted in front of their former teammate.

 

Yes, Tsukishima was sick of the unnoticed feelings that had been going on between the two since high school. But no, he didn’t need the pair smooching and cackling in front of his _fucking_ face. He slammed two glasses of apple smoothies on their table and glared sharply. “If you’re going to spur a fracas again, leave.”

 

“You’re such a party-pooper, Tsukishima.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

He eventually storms out of their way, and finds peace amongst ignoring them as usual. His mind swarms around the business and finance projects he still haven’t started on, that was due in two days. He wasn’t the type to set his homework off for later, but he just couldn’t find the determination to do _anything,_ lately. Washing the dishes falls nicely into rhythm, as the lavender-scented soap coats his sponge. He looks up once to see how Hinata and Kageyama are doing, only met with Kageyama’s rounded head facing the scenery outside. Hinata must’ve gone to the restroom, or something. At that moment the other boy turns around, and frowns. “What are you staring at, huh?”

 

“Just wondering how dumb you need to be to confess after 4 years.”

 

“Shut up. It’s better than fucking nothing.”

 

Tsukishima can’t really muster a witty remark to that one and therefore remains relatively silent. He fixes the position of the plates and bowls on the drying rack and removes the black apron from his waist.

 

“Aren’t _you_ the dumb one?” Kageyama shoots accusingly, and Tsukishima subconsciously crinkles the fine strap of the apron.

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“You’ve always been so fucking… _discreet,_ during the most inconvenient times. You’re _too subtle._ Just like what happened with Yamaguchi –“

 

“ _Kageyama_ ,” Breathing pointedly, Tsukishima ground his teeth. “State your point, or get lost.”

 

“Like you can fucking make me, sure. You _know_ that we all knew you had that fucking dying crush on Yamaguchi throughout high school – we knew, I knew, you knew, and- even _Yamaguchi_ knew. If you had just _said_ something, maybe he wouldn’t be engaged to Yachi right now.”

 

Tsukishima swallowed, hard. Yamaguchi and Tsukishima were a taboo topic to bring up amongst the Karasuno group. Yamaguchi still kept in touch with all of them, of course, along with Yachi, as they began to going out during their second year of high school – but it was painfully transparent to everyone that Yamaguchi had given up on waiting, and Tsukishima was too indifferent to be desperate.

 

Finally, he manages, “They’re satisfied. That’s all that matters.”

 

Kageyama seems like he has a lot to say – but in contrast to his expression, his words are surprisingly serene. “You know,” His apple smoothie makes a gurgling sound as he slurps up the last chunk. “You’re a bastard. After all these years, I still don’t know why I hang out with you.”

 

“The feeling is mutual.”

 

“ _But,_ ” The setter swiftly adds, “I also believe you’re a pretty damn awesome guy. Not in terms of personality, but in general. You’re a great middle blocker- well, you quit volley, but still. You’re fucking smart, and –“

 

“You’re being cheesy, please stop.” Wincing, Tsukishima awkwardly pleads.

 

“- And you’re a talented musician. I envy you.” The raw honesty in Kageyama’s voice puts Tsukishima into muted quietness. He’s not quite certain _how_ he’s supposed to respond to that, as Kageyama, as far as he knew, _never_ told him something of that manner. The steel-blue eyes focus on Tsukishima, until he continues, “So, sometimes I wish I can just jam the fact into your fucking dense head that you _are_ talented, and that you _deserve_ to be with someone. There, I fucking said it. I’m never saying something so horrendous and in my entire shitty life ever again.”

 

Tsukishima doubts his ears. “What did you just say?”

 

“Like I said, I’m not repeating that crap. But you should take the hint and try to hit up a conversation with that rooster head dude, or whatever. Kuroo? It’s not really my business.” That’s when Hinata hums a tune and skips back into the dining area, and Tsukishima averts his attention like nothing occurred – Kageyama does the same.

 

But before he’s actually conscious of his actions, Tsukishima discovers his fingers drumming away at the flat screen of his phone, and pressing ‘send’.

 

**_[From: Me_ **

**_To: Kuroo Tetsurou_ **

****

**_Are you free today?]_ **

****

Fuck, now he’s done it.

 

* * *

 

 

To say Kuroo Tetsurou is _fretful_ is one definite understatement.

 

He flexes on his tiptoes and for the sixteenth time, texts Oikawa and snaps a selfie to beg for an attire check. His bedhead is uncooperative as ever, and it seems to be sticking out in a more stupid direction than ordinary. He pats out the cowlicks, and exhales. He messaged Tsukishima instantaneously as he received the invitation, and here he was now, standing outside a local café that apparently Tsukishima visited often in the mornings. They went to separate universities, so Kuroo wouldn’t know.

 

 _Fuck, please don’t say I have something between my teeth._ Panicking, Kuroo turns his phone to selfie mode again and checks his straight front teeth. After making sure there was nothing indecent visible, he tries to relax on the glass walls.

 

A few agonizing minutes later, he heeds the rustling of autumn leaves approaching him. Tsukishima is there, wearing a blue cardigan with his standard white shirt tucked under his black slacks. Kuroo feels too casual in comparison, in his gray turtleneck and comfortable jeans.

 

“You could’ve waited indoors.” Tsukishima greets dryly – it’s a very Tsukishima-esque introduction, considering that it’s nearly been two months.

 

“Well,” _His voice, he’s real, holy shit,_ “What kind of gentleman would I be if I don’t open the door for you?”

 

The younger man snorts, as he pushes the entrance door open. “I’m just going to get some coffee, and then we can eat dinner.”

 

“That sounds…” Kuroo struggles to rummage through his university-education-level brain for a suitable description. “Nice.” _God, I’m so eloquent._ Luckily, Tsukishima doesn’t seem to care too much, as he orders an espresso with extra shots. Kuroo simply observes, his tall, lean figure somewhat unbalancing amongst the average-sized people seated in the café. It wasn’t like Tsukishima was short compared to him – they weren’t more than a few centimeters apart – but he seemed a lot more acclimated to the environment. It is weird. He feels paranoid.

 

“Do you want something, or are you just going to be gawking like that?” Tsukishima’s words lull over him, and Kuroo feigns offense.

 

“I am not gawking, and no, I don’t need anything.” The bespectacled boy doesn’t even bat an eyelash as he hands the cash to the waiter. It takes Kuroo a while to apprehend that Tsukishima, for once, was trying to be considerate.

 

Which is… well.

 

Really, really warming, but also extremely wrong.

 

Not wrong, but.

 

“Tsukki, do you have a fever? Are you dying?” Is what involuntarily jumps out of Kuroo’s lips, and Tsukishima wears a deadpan expression.

 

“I’m not dying, I was just trying to be polite for once.”

 

 _Oh. Oh my god. What?_ “Uh, okay. That’s… new. Don’t scare me like that.”

 

The other boy wears an amused smirk, as he heads over to get his espresso. He adds some syrup to it, and then juts his chin towards the door as an indication to depart. Kuroo holds the door like he said he would, still unrecovered from the damage of Tsukishima’s sudden politeness, or… whatever that was.

 

They enter a random Korean barbeque place by whim, where the walls are dotted with traditional paintings. There’s a rambunctious pair of men, one with strawberry-brown hair and the other with jocular bushy eyebrows. They’re throwing pork belly pieces at one another, and it kind of reminds Kuroo of how he jokes around with his buddies.

 

“So uh,” Kuroo attempts to fire off the conversation, “you wanted to talk?”

 

Tsukishima actually doesn’t part his mouth for a very long time – maybe around forty seconds, to the point where Kuroo feels pretty neglected and unimportant. Not like that was news anyway, whenever he was with Tsukishima –

 

“How do you know for certain that you even like me?”

 

The question throws Kuroo off his axis more than it should. He almost chokes down his water down the wrong pipe, and he is pretty damn sure that his lungs just trembled in fear. His shrewd brain processes the information, in a pitiful mess of deciphering that artless inquiry.

 

“Uh,” _I think I said that like a gazillion times today,_ “As in, why do I like you or shit?”

 

“Simply, I guess it would translate to that.”

 

 _I mean, even if you abruptly ask me something like that –_ “You’re cute?”

 

Tsukishima squints.

 

“Okay,” Sweeping his hand down his chest, Kuroo places a sweaty palm on his forehead. “Let me redeem myself.” He unclogs his throat and faces his “heavy crush”. His heart skips a beat at the moonlike orbs. _Man_ , those eyes are worth a masterpiece. “I mean…” He ponders, but his head is white, like a fresh A4 paper. “To be honest, I’m not quite sure.” The whiff of meat overtakes the atmosphere as it sizzles on the grill. “It was just… I saw you at that concert, and I just… I was _enamored._ It was a ‘first-sight’ kind of thing.”

 

Past the smoke, Tsukishima doesn’t appear to be too content with his answer. Kuroo understands.

 

“If I have to pick a reason, though, I really loved your keyboard.”

 

It could be his imagination, but Tsukishima’s lashes flutter.

 

The memory is still crystal clear, from that fateful night in March, at the basement of the Karasuno Bar. Kuroo’s date had been canceled as the girl had an emergency appointment that came up, and he leisurely strolled through the streets; until he ended up in front of those half-open doors, where light jazz music faintly flowed out from the gap. There were no customers on the ground floor, but there was a deep thumping from the bottom. And of course, just like any other person would’ve done, Kuroo went downstairs.

 

It wasn’t a particularly gigantic basement, and it definitely wasn’t the fanciest he’d seen. The ceiling was dotted with fake crow feathers, and the walls read ‘KARASUNO’ in intimidating black English alphabets, most likely spray-painted. Next, to that, there was a tattered banner where it read ‘FLY’, the solid kanji white. Enraptured, Kuroo twisted his head towards the stage, where it was lit in highlight blue, and the single white wall behind the band had a soaring crow painted with wild outlines, with one wing of the crow spelling out “Feathers”.

 

Amongst it all, there was the velvety dark ringing of the vocalist that drummed Kuroo’s insides, with the groovy bass lines and the drums that lightened the chocolate-y heaviness. The whole band was dressed in black, loyal to their whole “crow” symbol, and although Kuroo was standing amongst the crowd like a huge lamppost, he felt so minuscule in comparison to the sheer power of their music.

 

Just when he truly believed he wasn’t able to breathe, a beautiful note – echoed in his ear, like an autumn night sky. As if hypnotized, his eyes traced the origin of the scenery, past the night, and –

 

_Met the moon._

Well, that was a very melodramatic description of what he actually witnessed. But the music made him poignant and very poetic, and that honestly was the first tag that popped up in Kuroo’s mind as he saw Tsukishima amongst the band. The keyboard part was fairly repetitive and scarcely escaped its usual chords, but the fact that Tsukishima Kei was playing it somehow made it mystifying and the best piece of music Kuroo had ever heard in the entirety of his life.

 

So, he decided he really liked the keyboardist, just like that.

 

“I’m pretty mediocre at it, though.” Said perfect keyboardist mutters, once again tossing Kuroo’s reminiscence into oblivion.

 

“ _Mediocre?”_ Kuroo nearly scalds his tongue as he bites into that meat way too fast. “Has the definition of ‘mediocre’ undergone an evolution while I was asleep last night?”

 

Tsukishima has that ‘there-he-goes-again’ face, as he chews on his food. “I don’t have the talent for music.”

 

“Again, evolutionary denotations.”

 

“You call people like _Kageyama_ prodigies. People like _Hinata,_ and such. My role is to support them and make sure they don’t accidentally miss a mark once in a hundred times.” Tsukishima is genuine, Kuroo finally realizes – _he actually believes that he’s talentless._

 

The senior scowls. “How would you define prodigies, then?”

 

“Just what I said. I don’t know if you’ve seen Kageyama and Hinata together, but they’re practically monsters. Kageyama’s going pro in volleyball, while dually managing his musical career, and so is Hinata. While Hinata definitely lacks tact and is clumsier, anyone with ears and typical sense can tell that they’re amazing. They learn at exponential rates, and evolve at impossible speeds – and without a limit.” With a puff of air, Tsukishima leans further backwards into his seat. “I don’t know what you’d call those monsters other than ‘prodigies’.”

 

“I believe otherwise.” In his firmest tone possible, Kuroo puts on a sincere face. The smoke between them has somewhat diminished over time, as they almost finished their meal. “To get there, no matter how talented you are, it requires practice. It’s not about whether you have the material or not, in the very end.” Even so, the wavering in Tsukishima’s orbs is minimal – and Kuroo recognizes that his argument must’ve been very generic.

 

“Okay, so image it this way.” Re-approaching the topic, he adjusts his explanation. “Life is like… climbing a staircase. Everyone aims for the top, naturally. The starting line isn’t identical for everyone, though. Kageyama-kun, the one you’re talking about, is perhaps a few steps ahead. Some might be behind. But ultimately, climbing it is proves to be a challenge for everyone at some point – it’s just a matter of how resolute you are to reach the summit. I bet you actually _do_ know, that this Kageyama-kun and Hinata-kun you label as prodigies, had to assert effort to get to the levels they are right now.”

 

Finally, Tsukishima’s golden stare settles into comprehension. His stubborn frown curls into something more bitter – and Kuroo is able to distinguish the source – incompetence.

 

“Tsukki,” He emphasizes the name, like a magic spell. “Don’t concentrate on who’s above – and face yourself. You deserve more than you account for.” And Tetsurou means it. He’s almost positive that he never meant anything more. It hurts him like a throbbing headache in the gut, to see Tsukishima undermining his own potential. Even if Kuroo never fell in lo-

 

 _Huh?_ He mentally whites out. _What was I –_

“You’re the second person to tell me the exact same thing.” Tsukishima grunts, like a curse. He drops his chopsticks with a metallic _clank_ and straightens his back as he requests the check. “I don’t get it.”

 

While mildly curious on who the first person is, Kuroo puts the matter aside. “You know, Tsukki,” His lips formed a smile, “If I knew you existed, I would’ve saved all my firsts for you. From holding hands to my first kiss, to my first sex, to my first moon gazing.”

 

The tips of Tsukishima’s ears flushes pink, like a strawberry. “Are you seriously insane?”

 

Kuroo laughs, as he smoothly pays for them both – and Tsukishima is too muddled to notice. He stands, and still chuckling at the reaction, exits the restaurant. The blonde marches after him, his lips twisted into a sour twirl, his face kind of red.

 

_Jesus, he’s cute._

“Just get this and fuck off already.”

 

Kuroo glances back in time to single-handedly grasp the petite rectangular file, wrapped in glittery silver paper. “What’s this? Are you already proposing –“

 

“It’s from my _brother._ As a thanks for treating me to free meals.”

 

“Aw, sweet. Can I open it right now?”

 

“It’s yours, so do whatever.”

 

He excitedly tears off the pretty wrappings and discovers a laminated photograph inside.

 

“Wow.”

 

It’s a photo of the moon. It’s not a full moon, but a crescent moon, glowing blue-ish white in a midnight purple sky. There aren’t many stars, but the thin clouds that hang nearby enhance the beauty of the perfect crescent shape. On the back, there is an squiggly text, where it reads ‘ _Thank you for looking after Kei! – Tsukishima Akiteru’._

 

“I love it.” Kuroo breathes, and in the corner of his eye, he can see Tsukishima roll his own.

 

“It’s just a photograph.”

 

“Yeah, but regardless, I love it. Your brother must be really good at this. He really likes photography, huh?”

 

Something changes in Kei’s expression – although the other can’t quite pinpoint what. Enlightenment washes over the previous crinkles on his skin, and he’s clenching at his slacks. Kuroo wonders if he should upstart another conversation, but –

 

“Yeah.” Tsukishima mouths, “He does.”

 

Perhaps, it’s his imagination again, but Kuroo thinks he sees a smile.

 

* * *

 

 

Tsukishima remembers his first kiss.

 

He was in a deserted locker room, and the digital clock that hung on the wall blinked _7:36 P.M._ in highlight orange. The reason why he remained is now but a vague memory – maybe he forgot his towel, or maybe he had some other underlying purpose. It doesn’t matter.

 

That was when Yamaguchi came in, the door opening with a classic ‘creak’, his voice as hesitant and squeaky as ever. He recalls that they shared a short dialogue, and that it was about some school group project in their biology class. Then as Yamaguchi was saying something around the lines of ‘ _Hitoka-san told me –‘,_ Tsukishima closed the distance between them and kissed his best friend.

 

None of them shut their eyes during the kiss, and Tsukishima’s dispassionate golden was just 2 millimeters away from Yamaguchi’s dark olive. The pinch server’s mouth tasted like salt, from the sweat of practice. Tsukishima finally removed himself from that savory warmth, and strode away, never looking back to see Yamaguchi’s expression.

 

They never discussed that kiss, ever.

 

Life went on, and Yamaguchi began to date Yachi. They grew apart in their last year of high school, and finally reached the point where Tsukishima had no idea where Yamaguchi was going for uni, vice versa.

 

Maybe that was the trigger. He’s always relished his personal hours that were accompanied with soft music of various genres, as he bobbed his head and ran his fingers along the electrical piano he possessed at home. His parents never signed him for an extracurricular class, so he had to educate himself. The more he learned how to play, the more he became absorbed into music – but until then, he never actually considered it as a possibility of his future.

 

 _“Kei, you’re out of your mind.”_ His father growled, his auburn eyes glowering furiously. _“Akiteru chose the wrong path. You saw for yourself. He’s miserable because he missed the spot in that grand exhibition in Tokyo to a complete rookie. Your future isn’t a joke, Kei.”_

_“I’m aware of that.”_ He technically wasn’t. It was a whimsical decision – he was exhausted, of studying and being smart for nothing, when there was always someone who reserved the ‘first place’ slot, of dragging his own conscience along the convenient pathway his parents carved for him. _“But there’s no guarantee I’ll succeed in the future you decided for me.”_

In truth, he always knew, just like Kuroo mentioned. It wasn’t about that hierarchy. It was about him.

 

Love, his future, his passion –

 

It was all about him, not societal standards.

 

“Nii-san,” He drones, as he lies down on their couch. “Are you going to continue photography?”

 

“As long as I can, yeah. Why?”

 

“Just.”

 

Akiteru snickers good-naturedly, as he pours in the bowl of green onions he prepared beforehand into the pot. “I was surprised when you moved in with me, Kei. I was certain you’d pursue the business career father planned for you.” He doesn’t bring up the fact that that was initially the stairwell that Akiteru was supposed to take. “But, I’m happy that you’re here.”

 

Kei sniffs the air, not particularly charmed.

 

“You know, to be brutally frank, I always knew I was never meant to be a photographer, or anything that was relevant to the artistic field.” _That_ grabs Tsukishima’s attention. The past cowering form of his brother fleetingly passes by, as he clutched the collage he worked on for months for the Tokyo exhibition. “When I was about to relinquish my dream- it was around Saeko’s birthday. I wanted to make it special for her, so I took a picture of her everyday, and made it into a mini collection and gifted it to her. And when she got it, she just… looked so _happy,_ you know? She literally screamed in my ear that it was the best birthday present she ever received, that I was a master photographer – you know, the normal Tanaka-compliments. But all I really cared about was how happy she was, and that… I don’t know, it really hit me then that I wanted to do this. If I could make someone smile like Saeko, then I felt like my art was worth it.”

 

His brother pauses, and grins brightly at his little brother.

 

“Kei, do you like music?”

 

The answer cascades easily like it was meant to be.

 

* * *

 

 

“You want _me_ to compose the lyrics?”

 

Akaashi almost yelped with incredulity blatant in his tone.

 

“We usually have the vocalists write the lyrics to our songs.” Kageyama stoically replied, his guitar hung over his shoulders. “Before we replaced the original members, Asahi-san was the one that wrote the lyrics for every song.”

 

The poor guy resembled a deer caught in headlights, rattled. Hinata nudged his boyfriend a little, and Tsukishima shook his head. They had finally excavated the ideal vocalist for their band after all this time, and now their lead guitarist was about to chase him away. It was pure luck, really – Akaashi just suddenly broke out into singing while he crashed into the bar the other day, and Nishinoya pressured him into joining immediately. Surprisingly enough, Akaashi did join the band, and was now officially the lead vocalist of Feathers.

 

“If it’s too complicated, it really helps to write about something you love.” Nishinoya bubbled, as he tapped his drumsticks on their tiled floor of the practice room. “At least, that’s what Asahi-san told me.”

 

 _That explains why Asahi-san’s lyrics were always about wild evenings and beautiful west valleys._ Tsukishima dawns with realization, as he crosses his legs, sitting on his own bench. Akaashi falls into deep thought, his pale face lowered. After a few minutes, he grabbed a blue pen from his bag and began scribbling on the sheets of paper. Hinata jittered with excitement as he admired the scene, and the tension in Kageyama’s back flew out with relief.

 

_Something you love, huh._

 

_(“If I knew you existed, I would’ve saved all my firsts for you.”)_

His pulse quickened, and color rushed to Tsukishima’s face. _Jesus Christ._

 

“Tsukishima, are you sick? Your face is red.” Hinata just had to comment on his face, didn’t he?

 

“Oi, Tsukishima, don’t get sick now. We have the Christmas concert in 2 weeks.”

 

“Shut up, King. Don’t make me remind you how red your face was when you confessed to your idiot boyfriend.”

 

 _“Tsukishima!” “_ You fucking piece of shit, _I will slaughter you._ ” The couple screeched in unison, and that brought a snarky leer to Tsukishima’s lips.

 

A few hours later, Akaashi’s finished with the first song. It’s titled ‘ _Starry You’_ , in extraordinarily neat handwriting, that Tsukishima first perceives it to be printed. It’s not a very well concealed fact that the subject of the song is transparently Bokuto – but Tsukishima finds the lyrics grudgingly endearing.

 

“What’s so great about that lousy muscle monster?” Tsukishima handed the papers back to Akaashi, who sputtered and began coughing – which the former felt kind of guilty for, but well.

 

“Bokuto-san is…” His voice still shaky, Akaashi inhaled a strained breath. “Very earnest. He’s guileless, and always knows what he wants. I… I admire him.” The shine in Akaashi’s evergreen daydream is sufficient of a response. ‘ _I love him’,_ he was announcing with all his fibers.

 

Tsukishima’s train of thoughts venture –

 

( _If I knew you existed, would I save all my firsts for you?)_

* * *

 

 

“Relax, Akaashi-san. This isn’t a suicide mission.”

 

They had booked the closest concert hall near Karasuno Bar – it wasn’t too much of a hassle, as Feathers was plenty popular, even before their new members. But Akaashi’s restlessness was quite relatable – this was their first debut as this lineup, and the style was totally re-created.

 

Kageyama had a still aura surrounding him as always, ever since high school – and Hinata had run off to his fourth trip to the bathroom. Nishinoya was performing a small tap dance with his fingers on his lap by the sidelines, giddy. Even Tsukishima was quite uneasy about this performance – he had been a part of numerous concerts, but it had been over half a year since his last one. And furthermore –

 

**_“… And thank you for waiting, everyone! After their long hiatus, they are finally back, as the revised Feathers!”_ **

****

Clenching and unclenching his fists, Tsukishima stepped onto the blinding stage. His keyboard was there, set up where he wanted it to be, to the left of the stage. Akaashi’s legs were quivering as he made his way to the microphone, and the lights grew dimmer.

 

Nishinoya exclaimed ‘one, two, three, four’ and the music commenced.

 

His fingers glided alongside the white keyboard, as the symphony of notes overwhelmed him. Akaashi’s voice melted in with their unique harmonization perfectly, and Nishinoya’s dominating drums contrasted the mellow but powerful bass and guitar lines.

 

 _Fortissimo._ His thumb crashed into the key, and he heard Akaashi’s delicate voice sing, and the music of the band that seemed to clash and destruct one another mingled in to revolutionize their sound. Each high note, each emphasis on the second beats, each creative melodic line pulled and throbbed within Tsukishima, his body surging with adrenaline as he moved his body with each key change.

 

Nearly choking out a suppressed exhale, he opened his eyes wide and stared into the audience, and –

 

_(“If I knew you existed –“)_

Tsukishima wasn’t the main focus of this stage. But that didn’t matter.

 

_(“Kei, do you like music?”)_

One of his fingernails chips away as he jams on the keys with too much force. Kuroo is there. He’s right there, staring up at him, his dark eyes filled with fire, with the night sky of Christmas, with everything Tsukishima can ask for–

 

_I do._

* * *

 

“Where are Bokuto and Akaashi?”

 

“Outside – Akaashi fled and Bokuto madly went to capture him.”

 

“Those fucking idiots.”

 

They’re back in the bar, and Tsukishima feels dazed. The heat of the concert hasn’t completely vanished, and his vessels still tingle with adrenaline. In a very long time, the aboriginal members of Feathers returned for their debut concert – and now Tsukishima is stuck to deal with many, many homos.

 

Sawamura and Sugawara are flirting in the kitchen, which bans Tsukishima to go in there. The last thing he desires to stumble upon is his two former upperclassmen humping each other. Asahi and Nishinoya have a sickly sweet wave going on between them in the corner table as well, so that’s another red zone. Iwaizumi is the only one seated alone in his usual saved chair, sipping his warmed sake as he ate some boiled beans.

 

Tsukishima decides to sit down as well – it’s a luxury he’s never experienced in this bar, being a bartender and all. Ukai and his professor boyfriend prepare the drinks for everyone, declaring it was their special treat for the successful concert.

 

The doors dangle open at that moment, and Tsukishima freezes at the entrance of a more than familiar being.

 

“Yamaguchi, Yachi! How long has it been?”

 

“Coach Ukai, how were you?”

 

“I don’t go by that anymore, just call me Ukai-san, or whatever. Yachi, how’ve you been doing with this pipsqueak?”

 

“H-he’s a w-wonderful p-person –“

 

Ukai holds the pep talk with Yachi a little longer, and Yamaguchi scans the bar as if searching for someone in particular. Then his eyes lock onto Tsukishima’s – and the Tsukishima can sense his pulse rate rapidly increasing, in a very demoralizing way.

 

“Hey, Tsukki.” His light, fluttering voice from when he was a young teen is now nowhere to be heard, and his freckles don’t produce the childish vibe it used to. “How were you?”

 

The keyboardist has to lick his lips before he can formulate phrases. “Okay.” He stops, “You?”

 

“Great! Your concert was really something, by the way – you’ve always been so amazing, Tsukki.” Yamaguchi still has that twinkle in his olive orbs, his beam illuminating and optimistic as ever. “I’m getting married in a few months, by the way. You should come.”

 

 _Marriage._ The term rings extraneous in his ears, as Tsukishima blinks. “Huh. You?”

 

“Wow, I’m hurt.” Yamaguchi scoffs, but they both know well that he doesn’t mean it. Then a shriek echoes from the right, and Tsukishima sees a blob of bright-colored hair head banging in panic. “Sorry, Tsukki – Hitoka’s becoming a nervous rack again. We can catch up later, right?”

 

A gentle breeze brushes over Tsukishima, as he snuffed. “Whatever.”

 

Yamaguchi looks pretty pleased with that, as he hurriedly jogs towards his fiancée and rubs her back reassuringly.

 

“Yeah, and then Bo just went _WHAM_ and –“

 

“Shit, Tetsu, _stop –“_

His brows furrow at the new ruckus, and his dumb heartbeat shoots up as he noted it is nobody other than Kuroo and Oi-

 

“… Shittykawa?”

 

The whole bar’s temperature imaginatively drops, as Iwaizumi Hajime, far inside the bar, stared at Oikawa Tooru, dubbed as ‘Shittykawa’, who had his right arm linked around Kuroo’s neck. For a millisecond, Tsukishima has no idea what is wrong – until he pieces the puzzle together, about Iwaizumi’s ex, and how Kuroo used to tell him how Oikawa dated people based on their attributes that resembled _his_ ex –

 

_Oh. It all makes perfect sense._

Oikawa dashes off in frenzy, his fingers wrapped around the knob as he flung it open with such brute strength, that Tsukishima swore it was half-broken. Iwaizumi cusses loudly and sprints right after, shouting Oikawa’s name.

 

The drama that can occur in one day is limitless, Tsukishima acknowledges.

 

“Hey,” That unchanging, languid greeting jerks Tsukishima awake from his trance, “Wanna go outside?”

 

“It’s cold.”

 

Kuroo sniggers merrily. “We can figure out a solution to that.”

 

Without further complaints, Tsukishima grabs his parka and pulls it on. The wind outside is quite freezing – but it _is_ Christmas, after all.

 

“You were beyond astounding today, by the way. I was mesmerized.” Kuroo ruffles Tsukishima’s shortly trimmed hair, and the boy stiffens at the new sensation.

 

_(He doesn’t really dislike it, he discovers.)_

“You don’t need to go straight for the empty praise. It was mostly Akaashi-san’s vocals that united us, anyway.”

 

“I never offer empty praise to anyone, especially you.” Kuroo’s fingers are startlingly warm, as they touch Tsukishima’s by their sides. The streets are lit with red and green lights, and the elated hum of carols faintly travels along the shops that are still open for business. Then Kuroo’s fingers gradually intermingle with Tsukishima’s, until his hands are fully wrapped around the latter’s cold ones. Tsukishima almost snorts, as he looks upward to see Kuroo in better view – and Kuroo’s face is hot pink. “ _You_ said you were cold!”

 

And that’s when Tsukishima allows a quiet laugh to evade his glaciated lips. “Your idiocy beyond salvation, Kuroo-san,” Kuroo grumbles a line of excuses, but only tightens his grasp around the boy’s fingers.

 

The same blazing balminess tips over inside Tsukishima, just like when he first learned his love for music.

 

_(Even if it’s neither of their firsts- )_

They head into a more deserted vicinity of the park, and Kei finally sees that today’s moon is a full moon.

 

Without an inkling of reluctance, he whispers,

 

“ _The moon is beautiful,_ Kuroo-san.” The phrase is too romantic for his tastes that he wonders how he managed to go through that without cringing. He can sense Kuroo’s hold grow rigid. When nothing follows, Tsukishima twisted his field of vision towards the latter –

 

“I never knew you were the type for Natsume Soseki.” The raven has a sheepish grin on his face, “But I suppose it does fit nicely with your name.”

 

“I’m never going to say it again.”

 

“Thought so.” Kuroo chuckles, inching closer to the blonde. “You’re right, in the literal meaning though. The moon is really beautiful today. I guess it’s a Christmas thing.” Then slowly, Kuroo detaches his fingers from Tsukishima’s – and turns towards him. “Okay, I’m going to do this.”

 

“Vomit?”

 

“Don’t break the mood, goddamnit Tsukki.” Kuroo pretends to sulk a little, but then his expression soon reverts to its abnormal seriousness. “You know, I actually never knew what falling in love was like, even after I dated all those girls- and occasional guys.” Tsukishima is aware that the college student has avoided his dating status up until now. And albeit the fact that Tsukishima was often irked by the topic – he wasn’t anymore. Oddly. “And then I met you, and I just came to assume that it was a pretty bad crush. I never think I had it that bad. I started to imagine what would’ve happened if I didn’t play around, and preciously kept all my firsts for you.”

 

 _Funny,_ the salty kiss with Yamaguchi clouded his vision for just a second. _I think we were on the same page._

“-But then I thought, even if you weren’t any of my firsts, I felt the most perfect I’d ever be when I was with you. And when you gave me that photograph- your brother took it, of course, but I still really believe that it’s beautiful.” Kuroo leaned in, and his misty breath fogged Tsukishima’s glasses.

 

“The moon today really is beautiful, because Christmas has its charms,” Past his translucent lenses, Kei _knew_ Tetsurou was smiling that stupid, happy smile. “But you’re the most beautiful moon I’ll ever see, Tsukki.”

 

“I don’t get how you can sing-song embarrassing lines with such flair.” The heat that is coming from his face is definitely perking up that annoying grin on Kuroo.

 

“Kei.” His name sounds like music when Kuroo pronounces it, and Tsukishima finds it idiotic. Idiotic – but something he can get used to. “I –“

 

His glasses still blocking his vision, Kei wraps his right arm around Kuroo’s neck, and shuts the confession as it drains down his throat, drowning as Tetsurou’s hot lips melted his icy ones, Kuroo’s strong and sturdy arms curling around Tsukishima’s torso as they closed in the nonexistent distance – nonexistent, but it never seemed close _enough._

 

“You cheeky bastard.” Kuroo gasps, “You never let me finish.”

 

“So you didn’t like it, then.”

 

“Yeah,” His specs are gently lifted and folded away, “So we’re doing it again.”

 

“You don’t make any sense.”

 

“I bet you have no complaints, though.”

 

And Kuroo does more than simply hitting the bull’s eye, and kisses him.

 

_(You’re none of my firsts, but together, we’re more perfect than I’d ever be. Love is a trite term, and Natsume Soseki phrases sound too poetic and classic, that I never cared too much about them._

_Instead, let’s phrase it some other way, a password we’d only understand –_

_“You complete my moon.”_

_I love you.)_

**Author's Note:**

> This literally the longest fic I ever wrote as a one-shot. I hope you enjoyed it, and the next one-shot that follows, as you might've guessed, is an IwaOi one! Please look forward to it, and thanks for enduring this hella long fic!


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